Late Night Conversation
by lefcadio
Summary: Tohma. Mika. Domesticity. Yuki's troublesome, as usual.


Author: Arislan

Title: Late Night Conversation

Rating: G

Summary: Tohma. Mika. Domesticity. ;) Yuki's troublesome, as usual.

Because, recently, the Gravitation manga has consumed me. ;) … and I'm a firm believer in the wonderful-ness that is Tohma/Mika. :p

**Late Night Conversation**

When he opened the front door, the hallway was dark; stepping over the threshold he could see his own silhouette stretch out before him, a dark smudge on the carpet surrounded by pale moonlight. The house was quiet. He shut the door with a gentle 'click', slipping off his shoes and stepping into the house-slippers he knew were nearby, even though he could barely see them in the shadows.

"Tohma?" he heard that familiar voice call out his name questioningly, a small smile slipping onto his face as he removed his hat and coat.

"I'm home, Mika-san," he replied cheerfully, the lacquered wooden floor creaking beneath him as he made his way towards the kitchen. In contrast with the gloomy hallway, the bright, soft lighting of the kitchen was pleasantly restful. Mika sat at the table, long hair falling into her eyes as she glanced up when Tohma entered the room. She gave him a tired smile, pushing aside the papers she'd been working on.

"You're home late tonight."

The blinds were pulled down over the windows on the opposite wall; there was a little dish and mug on the draining board next to the sink. On the side, there was a small plate heaped with food pushed back next to the wall by the rice-cooker.

"Yes… I'm sorry, I meant to call," he inclined his head apologetically and tugged off his gloves.

She raised an eyebrow, dark eyes looking up at him with amusement, "working _that_ hard?" Mika pulled out a chair next to her and rose, heading for the microwave. "Sit, you need to eat. I have something here I can warm up for you, or I can make some fresh rice for you if you like—" she paused, hand half reaching for the dish of food as Tohma's arms came to rest about her waist.

"No, that looks fine," he whispered gently against her ear, resting his head for a moment against the back of her shoulder. She was wearing a jumper he'd bought her a couple of years ago, he noted, the warm fabric soft against his cheek.

He lifted his head when he heard the shrill beeping of the microwave, Mika turning to face him to run her thumb gently over his mouth, his own hand coming up to clasp hers as she kissed him lightly.

"So, what was it you got so caught up in today, then?" she inquired teasingly, tugging him back towards the table.

"Well…" he sat down, biting on his lower lip thoughtfully, "you know that there's been a lot going on at N-G ever since we decided to reform Nittle Grasper." He shot her a wry smile, idly reaching out with one hand to tug on her fingers.

"How're the plans for the new album going, then? You think you're going to be organised enough to perform at the Tokyo Bay Music Festival?" he laughed lightly at the demanding tone of her voice, letting an honest, fervent smile curve his lips.

"Oh, yes."

Mika noted fondly the precise moment Tohma slipped into his 'music mode', chatting animatedly about one of the few things he put all of his true self into.

"And, Mika-san – I have a surprise, too. In order to make an even bigger impact with our comeback single, we've…ah, 'borrowed' the skills of a very talented lyricist. Or – maybe I should say, the skills of a very talented _writer_."

Mika felt her eyes widen in surprise; inhaled sharply while she tried to process what she'd been told.

"Surely… surely you don't mean – _Eiri_?" Tohma didn't even need to nod; just sat, looking slightly smug, waiting for her reaction.

She shook her head slightly in disbelief, "I can't believe my brother would agree to such a thing, but…" she looked at him with a little lopsided smile, "that's wonderful, Tohma."

"Well, it certainly wasn't easy… but I was with Eiri-san a good part of the day, so eventually I managed to convince him," he sighed, looking a little pained as he rubbed his temple, "and you know better than anyone what Eiri-san can be like when he's not in the mood to co-operate."

Mika made a dismissive noise, standing up to retrieve Tohma's food as the microwave chimed. "Yeah, he can be awkward… but most of the time he's like a spoiled child. You humour him too much, Tohma."

He seemed to consider her teasing remarks, murmuring his thanks as she passed him the dish and some chopsticks,

"I don't think so," he said thoughtfully, pausing for a moment to eat some rice "I know I irritate Eiri-san some of the time anyway – I don't think I'd get anywhere with him if I acted more harshly."

Mika smiled a little sadly, then spoke up again, "so how is my obnoxious brother doing, anyway?"

Tohma's gaze darkened slightly, mouth tightening almost indiscernibly. "As well as can be expected. Shindo-san remains, and he persists in trying to smoke and drink himself to an early grave. I believe he still takes his medication, which I suppose we should be thankful for."

He moodily stabbed at his katsudon for a moment, appetite failing him.

"Tohma…" she watched him brood for a while, running a hand through her hair tiredly, "you know there's only so much we can do."

Tohma frowned, before finally pushing his plate away, "but he just doesn't know what's good for him – it's like he's purposefully blind to it, pulling closer to him all the things that will destroy him. I… I hate to see it." He stood up and pulled her to him then, embracing her tightly, hoping her warmth would ease the chill of worry that thinking about Eiri always left in his heart.

"I know…" she whispered, voice cracking a little as she held him, "but as long as we keep trying, he has to come to his senses eventually, right?"

"…I hope so," he replied softly, a hand buried in her hair as he kissed her forehead, thankful that, in many ways, Uesugi Mika was nothing like her brother.

They left the kitchen, then, Tohma turning off the light as he led Mika out of the kitchen; the only sound in the dark, silent house was that of slippers shuffling up the stairs.


End file.
